


Calling Out My Name

by vlasdygoth



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Sharing a Bed, these are all minor and the last one is complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 10:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9380162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vlasdygoth/pseuds/vlasdygoth
Summary: Five times Kepler called Jacobi a pet name, and one time Jacobi managed to pull it off on him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> These are all short and not really connected, and may or may not be in chronological order? Also the first one 100% stems from a conversation I had with redteamshark forever ago so thank you Bunce!

I.

 

It’s a sign that Jacobi is dead tired when he doesn’t complain when Kepler pushes him into the hotel’s foyer with a hand between his shoulder blades and says “Will you check in for us, dear? I need to get the rest of the luggage from the car,” before disappearing out the door.

The hotel is nice. Not glitzy or expensive, but nice. The concierge is perfectly pleasant as Jacobi dazedly does as he’s told. He nods along to her chatting, giving her scripted responses through the haze of drowsiness overshadowing him from the day of driving behind him. He hates doing the talking, but Kepler does need to keep a close eye on the experimental weaponry they’re transporting, lest they both face the wrath of Goddard Futuristics. That, and he doesn’t want to waste any time getting from here to the nearest socially acceptable surface to pass out on.

“So what brings you and your husband here?” The concierge says, a kind smile on her face. Jacobi’s wandering mind comes to a full stop. That wasn’t part of the script.

“What?” he stutters, giving her a nervous laugh. This wasn’t part of the mission, there’s a  _ reason  _ he doesn’t do the talking. “No, no, he’s not my husband-”

“Not yet I’m not,” Kepler chimes in from behind him, making him jump. Perfect timing as usual. “We just got engaged,” he offers the concierge, whose lipstick-stained smile brightens. It looks like it’s hurting her face to smile so big.

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Jacobi stumbles along, distracted by the new pressure of Kepler’s hand sending sparks up his spine. “Kind of a new development.”

“Oh that’s just so sweet!” She coos, and Jacobi’s throat constricts. He was counting on a quick and easy transaction, not dealing with a hopeless romantic.

“You know,” she continues, leaning forwards, her flower-shaped pendant swinging out aggressively. “Our honeymoon suite is empty at the moment. I could upgrade you two, if you wanted. Free of charge. Y’know, just to see what it’s like when you do tie the knot.”

“Sure!” Kepler says before Jacobi manages to choke out a refusal.   
“What? No!” He stops himself and softens his tone at the concierge’s surprised expression. “No, nope, uh, we- we don’t need that.”

“Oh come on, what’s the harm?” Kepler purrs, exaggerating that infuriating drawl of his, running his thumb in circles directly on Jacobi’s spine. 

The concierge giggles, and Jacobi’s face burns. He wants to melt into the way Kepler presses himself closer to his side almost as much as he wants this conversation to end. 

“It won’t take me more than two minutes,” she assures them.

“Thank you,” Kepler checks her name tag, “Sonya.”

Thankfully, Sonya stays true to her word. Jacobi can give her that much.

“Alright,” she says, handing an increasingly more uncomfortable Jacobi the keys. “There you are, I hope you two enjoy your vacation!”   
“We will, thank you,” Kepler says. Jacobi gives her a frantic nod and lets himself be guided away by the pressure at the small of his back.

As soon as the elevator doors close, Jacobi sags, dragging a hand down his face.

“ _ Why _ did you say yes to that?” he demands, glaring at Kepler, whose hand is now loosely placed on Jacobi’s hip. 

He blinks, then shrugs. “We got a better room for cheaper, I don’t see what you’re complaining about.  _ Dear. _ ”

“Ugh.” Jacobi bumps his head against Kepler’s chest, staring at their wobbly reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors. He’s redder than he would like to admit. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, Daniel.” 

Jacobi wants to punch the smirk right off his smug mouth.

  
  


II.

 

There’s nothing Jacobi hates more than sitting in a hotel room with nothing to occupy him for hours on end after he completes a mission. That is, until he figures out the hotel serves complimentary champagne. 

“How are you drinking this garbage?” Kepler wrinkles his nose as he reads the label on the bottle Jacobi is two-thirds of the way through.

“I have shit taste, as you are ever so fond of reminding me,” Jacobi says as he downs the remaining contents of his glass. He hadn’t even noticed Kepler had come back into the room. “Now hand it over. Wanna see if I can finish it.”

“No.”   
“Dick.”   
“We have a meeting when we get back to headquarters in a couple hours. Sober up.” Kepler sighs and sets the bottle down on the table with a heavy clunk.

Jacobi hums. “No promises.”

“Do you  _ want _ me to shove you into the shower?”

“Only if you come with.”

Kepler rolls his eyes and moves to push Jacobi’s hair back, out of his face. Jacobi’s thankful he can falsely attribute his flushed cheeks to the champagne and not the way Kepler looks him up and down. Kepler threads his hand through Jacobi’s hair, twists his fingers as if to pull, and doesn’t follow through on the motion.

Jacobi doesn’t hide his disappointment at this very well if the smirk that curls on Kepler’s mouth is anything to go by. He lets go.

“I need you passably sober for this meeting, Jacobi,” he says before seizing his collar and hauling him up to stand.

It’s a miracle that Jacobi doesn’t black out from the vertigo, and he catches himself on Kepler. Or rather, Kepler catches him. Jacobi doesn’t mind this at all.

“Jeez, sir, you could at least buy me dinner before you start manhandling me,” Jacobi hums with a smirk. He wraps his arms around Kepler’s neck, sinking his entire weight into him for him to carry, just to be annoying.

Kepler grimaces and ducks out of his grasp, only to bend down and pull him into a fireman’s carry. 

Jacobi lets out an undignified yelp at suddenly being lifted off the ground and tries to wriggle away, but Kepler has him in a vice grip.

Kepler nudges the bathroom door open with his foot, dumps Jacobi into the bathtub fully clothed, and slams the shower on full blast.

Jacobi gasps and jolts up when the freezing water hits him. “ _ Fuck! _ ”

Kepler stands back and smirks. “Sorry, beautiful. This meeting is important. Come get me when you’re dry.”

“ _ Asshole! _ ”

  
  


III.

 

The lab is lively, even for so late in the day. Volta and Pascal are sniping jokes back and forth, making everyone else in Jacobi’s little ballistics department laugh as they work. Jacobi tunes it out as he finesses the final little details on his latest missile design. He lets them have their fun. It’s late, it’s Friday, and like them, he wants nothing more than to finish this up and clock out. He hasn’t gotten a long enough chunk of time between missions to enjoy a weekend in a while, and he’s looking forwards to this upcoming one. Maxwell had found her Star Trek: The Original Series box sets, and he had bought a giant box of microwave popcorn the other day, so it’s shaping up to be a great weekend already. He’s just finished looking over his entire schematic for the last time when a hush runs through the lab and something lands on his desk.

He jumps, and looks up to find an annoyed Kepler staring down at him, wearing full dress uniform.

Jacobi frowns. “What the hell is this?”

“Your suit,” Kepler says, glancing over the lab. “Put it on, I’m taking you to the Fiftieth Anniversary Gala.”

“Wh- I don’t own a suit,” Jacobi says, painfully aware of the eyes and ears of his subordinates trained on them. He inspects the garment bag laying across his work and the box next to them, which he guesses contains shoes.

“I know, I bought you one.”

“You  _ what? _ ” Jacobi balks, staring up at the colonel, who has that look he always gets whenever Cutter enters the room. 

“You heard me, angel,” Kepler sighs. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. “Hurry up. Our ride gets here in half an hour. Meet me out front. That’s an order.” 

And with that, he disappears out the door before Jacobi can get a word in edgewise. Jacobi glares at the door that clicks shut behind him.

“ _ Why _ do you never tell me these things?” He grumbles, tearing off his safety goggles and putting away his work. “And since  _ when _ do you call me ‘angel’?”

Someone breaks the silence Kepler had brought with him with a snort.

“Shut up, Volta,” Jacobi says without looking at her. With that, the rest of the department erupts into laughter.

Volta smirks, running a hand through her firetruck red hair. “Better hurry up, sir, the Fiftieth Anniversary Gala sounds  _ fancy _ . You’ll want to look good, and it seems like you’ve got yourself a hot date.”

Jacobi sends her a dirty look that dissolves into a sheepish grin. 

“Alright, that’s enough for today. Get out of here, guys.” He says, shutting down his computer. He snatches up his bag and his new clothes, and heads for the door as everyone else packs up. 

  
  


IV.

 

Jacobi wakes up before the sun filters through the blinds, and he can’t feel the right half of his body. Suddenly very awake courtesy of the panic clutching his throat, he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to find out what’s pinning him down, and his chin bumps into the top of Kepler’s head.

The panic is replaced by relief but is taken over by embarrassment in the span of about two seconds, and Kepler mumbles something incoherent into Jacobi’s neck at the movement. Jacobi freezes, staring down at the man holding him. 

He can’t help but remember he had started the night facing away from Kepler, lying so close to the edge of the bed he would have tipped off if he rolled the wrong way. Even then, the motel bed didn’t offer much room, so he can’t say he’s surprised they ended up like this. He can’t say he wants to pull away from this position either.

He relaxes as Kepler pushes his face closer into his neck, but keeps looking at him. He can count the number of times he’s seen Kepler asleep on one hand. The calmness that overtakes his features is the softest Kepler’s face ever gets, and it never fails to unnerve him.

Jacobi snaps his gaze from his face to focus on the ceiling for a moment until Kepler’s arm, slung across his torso, curls in, pulling him closer. Jacobi squirms; the pressure of Kepler’s body half on top of him was nice for a while, but now it’s making it difficult to breathe. He manages to wrench his arm out from under Kepler’s chest and he groans, pressing himself harder into Jacobi’s side.

Tentatively, Jacobi curls his arm up and runs his hand through Kepler’s hair as he looks up at him with bleary eyes. He must’ve stayed awake to keep watch last night. Jacobi smiles.

“Good morning,” he murmurs.

“G’morning, sweetheart,” Kepler says, his voice rough with sleep and insultingly attractive. 

Jacobi leans down to kiss Kepler before he can stop himself. It’s too early in the morning to care about anything like consequences he decides as Kepler shifts forwards to deepen the kiss and pin him to the bed.

  
  


V.

 

“Who the hell still holds masquerade parties?” Jacobi grumbles in the car on the way to their newest mission. 

“Delilah and Robert Edwards, apparently,” Kepler says. “Makes our jobs easier, though.”

“How?” Jacobi asks, fiddling with the ribbons on his mask. “Won’t our targets be harder to track down?”

“Yes,” Kepler says as he pulls into the long driveway leading up to the house glowing in the distance. “But it also makes  _ us _ harder to follow. Not to mention the anonymity.”

Jacobi nods and flips the mask over in his hands. The horns curl away from his face, like a ram’s. As they approach the house, he turns it back around, and ties it on, checking it in the visor mirror. It covers a good half of his face and leaves the rest in shadow. They roll to a stop, and Jacobi hands Kepler his mask.

They each step out of the car on their own. Jacobi adjusts his suit as Kepler hands the keys to the valet. Gravel crunches under the wheels as he drives away, and Kepler comes up to smooth his hand down Jacobi’s back.

He pauses for a moment before starting to walk up to the house to look Jacobi up and down. Jacobi can just barely see the light from the house glint off his eyes through his mask, all smooth lines and hard edges making up the snarling visage of a leopard. His smile peeks out from under it. The whole ensemble is oddly fitting.

He slips his hand under Jacobi’s chin and bends down to give him a soft kiss. 

“Well now, darlin’,” He says, pulling Jacobi in next to him. “Let’s go raise a little hell.”

  
  


VI.

 

Jacobi doesn’t bother to knock before slipping into Kepler’s office, making sure to lock the door behind him. He’s there, just like he always is the day after a mission. He looks harried and tired, his blazer tossed across one of the uncomfortable chairs in front of his desk, his tie loosened and his hair a mess. 

“That was a kind of a shitshow, huh?” Jacobi asks. It’s a rhetorical question. Kepler’s last mission had gone belly up, giving the entire SI-5 one hell of a mess to clean up. Jacobi had given himself the task of dealing with Kepler. 

Kepler stops his aggressive typing and sighs. He sags back in his chair and runs a hand over his face. He glares at Jacobi, but it’s a far cry from the Blunt Force Trauma Face, or even an expression holding any sort of genuine vitriol. He’s just exhausted.

Jacobi makes his way over to the back of the room, to the repurposed filing cabinet Kepler hides his booze in. He figures he might as well go all out and pulls out the Balvenie and two glasses. He turns and sets them on Kepler’s desk, then shuts his laptop and pushes it out of the way for good measure. Kepler watches him pour in silence.

Jacobi leans against the desk and hands Kepler his drink. He takes it without a word and starts to drink. Jacobi waits until he sets the glass down before he starts to speak.

“D’you want to talk about it?” He asks. Kepler says nothing still, but looks up at him with narrowed eyes, like he’s trying to read Jacobi’s mind. 

Jacobi breaks the eye contact by taking a sip of his own drink, and after a long while, Kepler responds.

“These violent delights have violent ends, Jacobi.”

“Alright Romeo, no need to be so melodramatic,” Jacobi jokes. He’s never bothered to understand Kepler’s Shakespeare quotes, but he might have to look this one up. Kepler opens his mouth like he wants to correct him, but then stops and has some more whiskey. 

When he sets down his glass again, Jacobi slides closer to him, and reaches out a hand to smooth down his hair. Kepler closes his eyes and presses into it, however slightly. Jacobi moves his hand down to cup Kepler’s jaw, like Kepler has done to him hundreds of times over. 

Kepler’s looks up at Jacobi, almost begging for a distraction from his work.

“Come here,” he whispers. It’s a question, not an order. 

Jacobi answers with a kiss.


End file.
